


From an Anvil to Another

by LothrilZul



Series: The Age of Restoration [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Journey, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Winterhold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 05:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LothrilZul/pseuds/LothrilZul
Summary: The blacksmith of Winterhold goes on an adventure with his daughter and Zinniah discovers a lots of things about her late father Sindri.Set around 4E 44





	From an Anvil to Another

It was a crisp winter morning, perfectly matching what a late Sun's Dawn morning should be like. Still cold and harsh, but with the promise of the upcoming spring. A few veil-like clouds were no match for the sun. 

The blizzard that hit Winterhold last night was gone but it left the town covered in a blanket of snow which  sparkled everywhere. After the townsfolk made the streets passable and the houses accessible they returned to their everyday routine. The friendly chorus of merchants filled the air along with the rhythmic sound of the blacksmith hammering for the last minutes. Some stands already attracted customers. For the jeweler the clear weather was the most fortunate to display her newest goods. Her satin golden brown scales were almost as pleasing to the eye as her merchandise. An apprentice college mage was inquiring about trinkets to enchant. 

“I can't spend all of my money on one necklace. I'll take three for 100 gold,” the young mage bartered.

The jeweler looked right in the eyes of the Nord man and sighed.

“My merchandise is a fine selection of Saxhleel craftsmanship and Breton masterpieces. As such, I can't give you a better offer than 400 gold. For each. Lowering my prices would dishonor the craftsmen. Also, it would leave my stomach empty.” As she was speaking the light breeze was playing with her copper-coloured feathers.

“Just like your pocket…” the novice mage muttered under his nose. 

The jeweler had a pity on him. 

“Hey, why don't you ask the blacksmith? He usually makes rings and other trinkets in his spare time from the leftover gold or silver chunks. Maybe he still has some.”

“Well, thank you for your advice. Let's hope you can sell your merchandise before you starve to death...” said the mage bitterly as he headed to the forge.

“By Zenithar, these college students are more and more bold every year,” she murmured. Her eyes narrowed a bit as she observed the callow mage crossing the cobblestone road which severed the market from the smithy. Next thing she heard was Sindri's deep-voiced laughter.

“Unenchanted? Of course my products are not enchanted. What would be the good at doing something you don't particularly good at amongst those who are?", the smith asked him agaze after he overcome his gaiety.

The Nord blacksmith was quite handsome for his age. He had most of his long, hay-like, grey hair tied back with a leather strap, with a couple of mutinous locks escaping its owners will to regulate them. Not like it bothered him in any way. He had smiling wrinkles by his high-spirited blue eyes. He shaved his face this morning as he did every morning in the last five decades. 

“You have a point,” the young mage agreed. “I was only cautious. Last time I tried to enchant a ring, it nearly burned my finger off. Turned out it was already enchanted to resist cold…” He shuddered as he explained his last unfortunate attempt at the enchanting table.

“Like I said, these are plain,” the blacksmith ensured him with a reassuring smile while he reached for his pocket and pulled out three silver rings and a steel amulet. “I made them yesterday evening. You can have all four for 20 gold.”

“Really? By Julianos! Thank you!” he was so eager to pull out his purse that he almost dropped it to the forge nearly burning his hand again. After paying, he hastened back to the College likely to further practice his conjuration skill.

“Just let me know if any of them burned you!” hollered the smith after him and then he just laughed and laughed. He was easy to entertain and had a heartfelt laugh.

 

 

Winterhold was a lovely town with its cobblestone roads, conjoined wooden pavements, traditional nordic houses and snowberries everywhere. It had a marketplace, a smithy, various stores and even a small but popular public library. On the market one can find the craftsmen; a fletcher, a jeweler, a butcher and an armorer as well. The majority of the townsfolk consisted of Nords or Dunmeri with the refreshing exception of Gareela the Argonian jeweler, Thyssa the Bosmer huntress and her partner Talus the imperial tradesman. They ran a business together; while she hunted, he made more arrows for her and butchered what she brought from her hunts.

The most conspicuous building in the town was the College it was famous for. Not only it had an enormous tower overlooking the Sea of Ghosts, but the whole complex was built on a well-chosen cliff, towering above the houses. The Jarl's longhouse could be easily overlooked to be a simple house compared to it. A furcating stone bridge leading to the entrance was overarching the streets, providing easy access for the mages to visit the Jarl or the marketplace without having to get through half of the town. Both of its endpoints were marked by massive arches which shared the same motives the main building had. 

Most of the Dunmeri who were not residing in the Hall of Countenance nor the Hall of Attainment lived in the Red Row, which was a group of stone and wood houses built in a shape to surround an obelisk dedicated to Azura, Boethiah, Mephala and other saints and deities of the Dunmeri. 

The town was surrounded with a palisade, but the real defense of Winterhold were the College mages themselves. These highly skilled masters of the arcane arts were known and feared Skyrim-wise if not on whole Tamriel. The masters of destruction could easily cast elemental storms or place devastating rune traps, while the conjurers called atronachs from Oblivion to fight for their cause or simply conjured weapons out of thin air. Shouldn't these two schools of magic enough, alteration mages could paralyze their opponents while a good illusion mage was able to make them run in terror. Last but not least, restoration mages covered them and the townsfolk with well-placed wards, and healing. The College was quite popular that no one really knew how many mages are studying the arcane arts at a moment. Their sheer number was enough to make their foes think twice before attacking Winterhold.

 

 

“Come on, wake up already!” the little boy entreated his older sister. “You promised me!”

“Aah,” she yawned. “Just five more minutes…” she sighed while she tried to hide under her sheets.

“No! You promised me! The weather, the sunlight... today is perfect! We  _ must _ go!”

“Fine…” the girl succumbed and yawned again.

An uninitiated observer might be surprised that a 'Nord boy' was calling a 'Dunmeri girl' his sister, but on second sight the mystery resolved itself. The boy had rye blonde hair and his blue eyes had a little purplish tint making his glare unforgettable. The girl otherwise had almost black hair and eyes pitch black. Both of them had freckles and a small bump on their bridge making them similar despite their different skin colours, hers was as little lighter than a Dunmer's as his was darker than a Nord's. Their ears were almost the same length; too short for a mer, too pointy for a man. Overall both of them resembled their same sex parent more. The boy inherited the chin of his father and the girl’s hair was slightly curly like that of her mother.

Her room wasn’t too big but it was cozy. Her furniture was typical to a nordic bedroom; a wardrobe, a bookshelf, a single bed, all made from carved wood. A little round table stood at the corner with a bowl and jug for lavement. The decoration however was sheer cyrodilic. Her bedclothes were made from warm red fabric and at the end of her bed stood a fairly ornate chest. She had a painting of a landscape on her wall which was so lifelike the leaves seemed to dance in the non-existent wind. Above the bed and the table, shelves took place crumbling under its owner's most cherished stuff. There were a little Talos statue, a blue dartwing pinned and framed, an ornate mortar and pestle, soul gem shards and a couple of books. More books were lined up on the bookshelves, strictly organized by theme. A heavy rectangular carpet muffled her steps. In the corner in a smaller pot a nice specimen of tundra cotton blossomed.

"Run, ask Father if we can go!" 

She sent her little brother ahead, even though she knew the answer already. "You are free to go as long as you show up in one piece later. Don't let your brother fall into an abyss. Come on, what are you two still doing here?" 

She sat up in the bed and stretched her muscles. She took a deep breath before standing up. Getting up her eyes wandered to her belongings on the shelves, making her smile. Thanks to her newcome gladness, she made the bed quickly and opened her chest to took out her adventuring gear: a petite leather armor chestplate, a pair of bracers, pauldrons and boots, a leather utility belt and a hooded linen tunic. She vigorously inspected every piece of her armor before equipping it. Every leather strap, buckle and sewing had to be secure and in place. 

" _This armor is your second skin now. It will protect you from many injuries. Might even save your life once. In turn, you have to take good care of it. With practice, you can get more and more out of it._ " 

Her father's words rang true to her ears. It was over one and a half year she has had her armor and apart from the fact that she almost outgrew the chestpiece the armor looked just like a new one. It wasn't only due to her caring. Even though she regularly gone to hunt to rabbit or pheasant in it, it never had the chance to actually prove its worthiness. A couple of skeevers and once a rabid arctic fox. Nothing majestic like a bear or a sabrecat... Not to mention Ice Wraiths. She got goosebumps even from the thought. No one knew what they really were. Those crystalline worm-like creatures were beautiful and lethal at the same time. Her dream was to once kill one before it kills her.  _ An ice wraith might be nothing compared to a dragon, but no one saw a living dragon since hundreds if not thousands of years. _

 

 

When Sindri arrived from Cyrodiil with his family, the only vacant house wasn't suitable for a smithy, but they bought it anyway. The Nord man built his forge next to the traditional two storey house. Next year he emerged his smelter too. The  _ Repair Hammer _ became popular quickly and the people nowadays couldn't imagine Winterhold without a blacksmith. His wife applied to the college and after a few years she took over the management of the Arcanaeum.

"Zinniah, what takes so long?" yelled her brother from below.

"Relax, Drel, I'm already on my way..." replied the girl.

Their father greeted her at the door.

"Good  _ morning _ , sleepyhead!" He laughed as he hugged his daughter and pressed a kiss on her hair.  "Your little brother told me that you don't want to accompany him to Mount Anthor."

"Hey, that's not true! I said fine and I--", started Zinniah, but she was quickly interrupted.

"I see, young lady, and your brother sees it as well," stated their father.

"You were right Father. You are always right," he murmured while staring at his boots.

"You know that it's not true, little man," told his son while patting his shoulder to relieve his tension.

"I'm sorry, Zi." His voice was nothing more but a whisper. "I thought you want to turn down this whole thing."

"No way, I'm curious too! I just like to sleep, that's all," smiled Zinniah.

"I would sleep 'til noon too, if I were reading books all night long," bantered Drelnirr but regretted his words in a moment seeing his sister's face.

"The books wouldn't eat you, you should try one. I mean, aside  _ Kolb and the Dragon, _ " explained Zi. "Father has some interesting traveller's guide from Cyrodiil. Maybe start with those?" suggested Zi though she suspected her brother’s refusal already.

"Maybe. Or maybe we should depart before the sun goes down!" said Drel impatiently and jumped off of the workbench he was sitting until now. He always pushed a little more than it was necessary.

"If the books we have at home are boring for you, pop in to the Library on your way back," suggested their Father while he grabbed his hammer and the sword he was working on currently.

"All right," replied the two kids not too eagerly. 

"Also, I'd like to read a good book. Zi, please borrow something for me!"

"Yes Father...!" ensured him the girl.

"Thanks! Do you packed meal for your trip?"

"Yes, some dried venison, grilled potatoes, apples, water, salt”, started to list her gear Zinniah. “Also, two potions of healing, a rope, a pickaxe..."

"I'm not going to carry it!" interjected Drelnirr.

"...a flintstone, my bow, a quiver of steel arrows, three spare bowstring and my dagger. I also drew a map. I'm no beginner, Father." stated Zinniah, then turned to his brother. "And yes, you will carry the pickaxe."

"That's not fair!" agitated Drelnirr.

"Do you want to go or not?!" the girl daggered him.

"Fine..." sighed the boy.

“Good list. You should take bedrolls too,” suggested their father.

“I don't plan to stay that long,” argued Zinniah.

“Me neither,” shook his head Drelnirr.

“Better be safe than sorry,” replied Sindri. “Adventuring is dangerous if you don’t have the necessary equipment.”

“How can you know such things?” wondered Zinniah. “I hope one day you’ll tell us. Drel, you have a choice! You may choose that you what to carry the two bedrolls or the pickaxe and the rope.”

“Thanks, how bounteous you are,” growled Drelnirr.

"Hey, young man, keep your head up! When you return I'll tell you a story from the time before I met your Mother. A story what you never heard before," comforted him Sindri.

“One from Cyrodill?”

“Exactly,” smiled Sindri to his son and Drelnirr seemed woesome no longer.


End file.
